


august 8th 2013 2:25am

by zippkat



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, no one is coping well, post Kavinsky world, takes place during a weird grief roadtrip, the dream pack, trans skov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 00:59:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9943190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zippkat/pseuds/zippkat
Summary: Skov rubs his jaw against Jiang’s cheek. “I can take whatever you dish out,” he says.Jiang can picture him on his knees, hands tied behind his back, nose bleeding and eyes blackened. Skov from before the summer, grinning while he stares down the barrel of a gun with his fucking bright eyes. Kavinsky laughing, high out of his mind, everything a hair’s breadth from going to shit, all of them on fire with the daring of it.(It’s not like Jiang had thought they--he-- would live forever. He’d just thought--)





	

The horizon is invisible in the dark; the world has narrowed into what’s illuminated by Jiang’s headlights and the faint glow of the dashboard. Skov’s hand on Jiang’s knee creeps upward, fingers rubbing in slow circles through his jeans. Jiang’s skin prickles. 

He isn’t sure how long they’ve been driving. The three of them had woken before the sun was up, camped out at a rest stop that looked exactly like every other rest stop in the world. Jiang thinks he saw a sign for one of the Dakotas around noon. He’d spent the morning in Swan’s backseat, then switched to Skov’s when he couldn’t take Swan’s shitty taste in music any longer. Skov had passed out around sundown, kicking Jiang into the driver’s seat. Now he’s awake and staring, eyes glittering in the faint light. 

Jiang’s pulse picks up. “You wanna drive?”

“I can’t fucking stand this fucking car a second longer,” Skov says. He sounds like he’s been waiting to say it for a while. He squeezes Jiang’s leg. “You drive like an old bitch with dementia.” Being passed from car to car, occasionally driving, this is far from the first time Jiang’s driving skill has been criticized. He knows Skov’s just shooting the shit; the hand is new, though, and it makes his answer come slower than usual. 

“It’s your fucking car,” says Jiang. “The gearshift sticks.” He stretches the word  _ sticks _ like he’s insinuating something, although he doesn’t know what.

“Fuck that, you just can’t fucking drive,” says Skov. Jiang doesn’t reply. He thinks about his candy red Supra in a smoking heap of twisted metal and unconsciously tenses. (Swan had told him not to go to the funeral.)

“Jiang,” says Skov, a cross between a warning and request. He squeezes Jiang’s thigh again.

Jiang pulls over on some vacant stretch of highway twisting around a mountain, far away from sidewalks and streetlights. 

Skov’s hand is over the front of Jiang’s jeans now, feeling up his dick. Jiang shifts back, warmth beginning to spread in his veins. 

“Like it?” Skov asks. Jiang catches him by the back of the neck and pulls him in. Skov’s mouth tastes like ashes and decaying fast food. It’s been awhile since they did this, since Skov let himself be touched. Jiang doesn’t know what’s changed; he feels just as hollow as always. 

Skov pulls away. His hair, now long enough to grab but short enough to look strange, sticks up where he’d been sleeping on it. Jiang hates the way it makes his insides twist but runs a hand through it. Rough, recently bleached in a motel bathroom somewhere before the mountains. He tugs at it.

“Where’s your head?” Jiang asks.

Skov makes a face. “Where’s yours?” He jerks back, unlocks the door and is out before Jiang can stop him. “Catch me,” he says and takes off into the dark. 

Jiang doesn’t think about action, it just happens. A few seconds lost to scrambling outside, the mountain air like a slap in the face, and he tears after Skov. His heart pounds in his throat; he can already taste blood in his mouth. It’s the only thing he’s tasted in days.

Skov doesn’t care about stealth, he’s going for speed. If Jiang were anyone else it would work. It only takes a split second-- Skov slows to avoid a tree and Jiang catches up. 

He grabs Skov around the middle and pulls him back; Skov rolls with it, twisting to snare Jiang’s legs with his own. They hit the ground hard. Pain shoots through Jiang’s side and spreads, leaving his skin tingling and  _ awake _ . Skov laughs, high and grating. 

They roll on the ground, leaves and brush clinging to their jackets. Skov gets a good hit to Jiang’s kidney but Jiang catches him by the hair and flips him onto his stomach.

“Cheap shot,” says Skov.

“Shut up,” says Jiang. He pushes Skov’s face into the dirt, ripping at his shirt and shoving his hand under it. Skov fights, trying to flip himself, but Jiang grabs him by the hair and knocks his head into the ground.

“Fuck,” says Skov, muffled by the mud. “I’m going to get a fucking concussion.”

“Hold fucking still,” says Jiang. Skov freezes, unthinkingly compliant. Jiang removes his hand. In a flash Skov’s on his back, face a wreck, catching Jiang’s wrist.

“You wouldn’t like me if I was easy,” he says and tries to throw Jiang off him. Something raw burns in Jiang’s empty stomach. He twists his hand, pining Skov’s above his head and out of the way. Muscle memory.

“You are easy,” he says. “You take it from everyone, always on your fucking knees begging for it.” To prove it, he leans down and traps Skov with his weight, snaking a hand between Skov’s legs. Skov breathes out hard, but can’t resist pushing into the touch.

Jiang pulls his hand away and slaps Skov hard across the face. Skov gasps, or maybe he groans. There’s only the dim light from the moon, but Jiang can see the mark he’s left, the red against Skov’s cheek. He can’t see Skov’s eyes. He thinks it might be better that way. He’s saying all his old lines, Skov responding the way he’s supposed to, but there’s something forced about it.  

Jiang leans back to unbutton his jeans, then Skov’s, fumbling only a little. The world could’ve ended. Up here, they’d never notice; everything is dark and ruined already. Jiang wonders how it would feel for Skov’s bones to snap and crunch under his fingers. He's hot and unsteady all over. 

Skov arches up dramatically, catching Jiang’s bottom lip between his teeth and pulling. Jiang kisses from Skov’s mouth over his jaw, to his neck, and then to his ear. 

“I want to hurt you,” he says, low. Skov shudders under him; Jiang’s stealing lines now, borrowing from Swan, from--. “I want to see how much you can take, until you’re begging me to stop.”

Skov rubs his jaw against Jiang’s cheek. “I can take whatever you dish out,” he says. 

Jiang can picture him on his knees, hands tied behind his back, nose bleeding and eyes blackened. Skov from before the summer, grinning while he stares down the barrel of a gun with his fucking bright eyes. Kavinsky laughing, high out of his mind, everything a hair’s breadth from going to shit, all of them on fire with the daring of it.

(It’s not like Jiang had thought they--he-- would live forever. He’d just thought--)

Something ugly bursts in his chest. He punches Skov in the ribs to hear him wheeze; Skov flinches, but he doesn’t struggle when Jiang bites his shoulder and pushes him harder into the dirt, one thigh between Skov’s legs. He’s hot and pulsing against Jiang’s skin, his boxers damp. Jiang forces his boxers down, rubs his thigh against Skov’s clit. Skov’s hips jerk and twitch; he makes a soft sound. The burns on Jiang’s thigh sting but he ignores it, a souvenir from Swan’s last breakdown. 

“So wet,” says Jiang, because Skov is. His thighs drip. Jiang drags his fingers through the mess, purposefully rough, then smears it against Skov’s mouth.

“You’re sick,” says Skov, around Jiang’s fingers. He bites, gentle, not dissuading, not bothered by the mess.    
“Wanna see sick?” hisses Jiang. He takes his hand back, reaches down between Skov’s ass cheeks. “Look at yourself.” He presses a finger into Skov’s hole. Skov’s breath stutters but he stays relaxed enough for Jiang to push inside. So Jiang slides in a second finger, rough and sudden.

“Fuck--” Skov winces but doesn’t try to stop him. As a reward, Jiang grinds against Skov’s folds, making him clench and gasp at every drag of skin against his swollen clit.

He’s tight around Jiang’s fingers, but eases at every thrust. Jiang moves rougher, tries not to think about the raised white scars on Skov’s abdomen or who put them there. (Skov under him, restless like always, it could be any time in the previous year.)

Jiang leans in and presses his face against Skov’s neck, breathing in. He smells weed and sweat and Swan’s shampoo, the bullshit eucalyptus-mint stuff. It burns in his nostrils so he bites down, imagining Skov’s collar bone crunching between his jaws. Skov claws ineffectively at his shoulders.    
“Should I make you come before I fuck you?” Jiang says, pulling back enough to whisper, twisting his fingers up as he thrusts. “It would be so easy. You’re so fucking sensitive, man.”   
“Fuck you,” Skov gets out, voice ragged already.   
“Nah, fuck you,” says Jiang. He slides in a third finger, too rough, but Skov makes a pleased sound in his throat. It takes a bit more, moving his fingers steadily faster, before Skov comes. He chokes on it, hands splayed in the dirt, muscles twitches and jerking involuntarily. Jiang imagines the way it’ll feel to have Skov come around his dick and fucks him through it, cock hard and hot between his legs. It’s been so fucking long. 

“Good?” he asks, when Skov blinks into focus.

“Fuuuuck,” Skov says. Jiang rocks his fingers and Skov tenses, mouth open. His lips are bitten raw. 

“Sensitive?”

“Dickhead,” says Skov. “You’re fucking terrible at dirty talk, I hope you know.”

“Bitch,” says Jiang, pulling his fingers out. Skov makes a sound-- disappointment or shock, Jiang doesn’t care. He flips them again, forcing Skov to use his hands to keep himself steady. It takes just a handful of seconds to pull a condom out of his pocket, rip the packet open and roll it on. 

Skov still complains, “Need help?”  

Jiang smacks his ass in retaliation, harder than loud, and Skov makes a soft, choked sound. Jiang drags his fingers through Skov’s folds, smears Skov’s come over his hole. His insides pull at Jiang’s fingers. Biting his bottom lip against the heat in his belly, Jiang lines himself up and pushes in rough. Skov claws at the dirt, trying to brace himself against the burn. Jiang pulls him closer by his hips, keeping him unsteady.   
“Do I feel good in you?” he asks, low. “You desperate piece of shit. You like how it feels, stretched over my cock?” His own voice sounds strange in the dark, words not his own oozing out his mouth.   
“Yes,” says Skov. “So fucking—shit—feel so full, love it when you fuck me, right there, fuck, right—“ Jiang digs his nails into his back, drags down, pulling Skov back. He slides in deep, hot and wet and tight. Skov groans. “Jiang--” His legs are shaking.    
“Yeah,” Jiang says. “God, so good, shit.” He rolls his hips without pulling out, shifting inside Skov, rubbing against the heat of him. Skov’s head drops, shoulders tense, and Jiang reaches a hand over his ribs and digs his nails into Skov’s abdomen. Then he pulls out, slides back in, and feels the way Skov tenses and shifts to take him, gasping. 

“So good at that,” he says, leaning down, pressing himself along Skov’s back. “You take it so fucking good.”   
“It’s a skill,” says Skov, breathless. He shifts, gaining enough leverage to slowly fuck himself on Jiang’s cock. He rolls his hips, sliding to take the head all the way to the base, over and over. Jiang snarls and knocks him forward, one hand braced against Skov’s thigh to keep him off balance.

“Fuck--”

“Don’t,” Jiang says, voice rougher than he means for it to be. Skov tightens around him involuntarily. 

“Don’t what?” he says, so Jiang grips him by the hair and pulls his head back so far Skov struggles to breathe.

“Make you feel good?” says Skov. Jiang can hear the taunt in it. “Make you feel better to knock me down, control me, make me take it? Fine, that’s fine--I can, I want you to hurt me, I want this, just like I wanted--”

“Shut the fuck up.” 

Jiang isn’t gentle. He takes and takes and Skov just goes with him, gasping and groaning like it couldn’t be better. Hate burns black in Jiang’s chest and he goes harder, holds Skov down, tears at him with his hands. His cock aches with it, and the tight, soft heat of Skov makes it easy to keep going, to chase the feeling burning at the base of his spine.

“Sick bastard,” he says, bending low over Skov. His grip is so tight his arms are shaking. He hopes he leaves bruises, but Skov’s skin is notoriously resilient. 

Skov tilts his head back against Jiang’s shoulder, breathing ragged. 

“Would you like it if I split you open, ripped you to fucking pieces? You want me to take my pocketknife and slice you up, make you bleed from a thousand different cuts? Everyone knows who you fucking belong to, who you’ll always belong to.” 

“They know, they already know,” he says, breathless. Jiang freezes. “Wanna mark me up like that? K’d be so fucking pissed.”

“Skov--”

“Nah, I like it, fuck, carve me up,” says Skov. “Tell me how you’d do it, come on.”

Jiang swallows. “I’d go over his initials, over and over, make up for the rest. His name on you forever. That what you fucking want?”

“ _ God, _ yes, yeah, fuck--”

“I’d tie you down, make you stay fucking still for once--”

“--Just like you like me--”

“--Just like I like you, spread out for me to use, to fucking hurt you--”

“ _ Please--” _

Jiang listens to the wet slap of his thrusts, concentrates on the way Skov yields for him, the way they move together, all the complex interconnected pieces of Skov working and moving just under his skin.

“You’re a piece of work,” says Jiang, burying his face in Skov’s shoulders. He bites and sucks at all the skin he can reach, raking his nails along Skov’s skin, pinching where he can as he fucks him. Skov writhes, gasping and groaning on every breath, one hand twisted in his own hair for purchase and the other braced against the dirt. All Jiang can smell is them mixed together. 

“Jiang,” Skov chokes out, and Jiang pulls back. He feels like he has a fever; everything moves faster than it should, the world downgraded into the tight body under him and the pressure building in his abdomen. 

“That’s not what you want to say,” says Jiang.

“ _ K--”  _ Skov says, like it had been waiting on his tongue. Jiang shudders.

“Fuck yeah,” he says, and digs his fingers into Skov’s abdomen, right over K’s initials. “Gonna come,” Jiang says. “Gonna—fuck—gonna come in you, gonna make you wet inside and out, gonna fill you—“   
“Fuck yeah,” Skov groans, voice wrecked. “Wanna feel it, shit, please, Kavinsky, fuck, K—“ He shifts under Jiang, touching himself with wet sounds.    
Jiang thrusts into him deep, biting down hard. It feels so good, Skov pulsing and twitching around him while Jiang’s hips roll and thrust, both of them coming, moving hard against each other. Skov’s insides pull Jiang’s orgasm from him, until they’re both gasping and shuddering. 

Skov hits the ground first. Jiang collapses half on top of him, curling inward on instinct.   
They don’t speak for a while. Jiang can’t focus on anything except Skov’s skin, radiating warmth. There’s dirt and sweat everywhere, his jeans are a mess around his knees. Eventually Skov pulls away, groaning. Jiang tosses the condom somewhere out of sight. He privately hopes unwary hikers will step on it.

“I’m going to feel this in the morning,” says Skov. His voice wavers. Jiang rubs a hand over his spine. His hand sticks in places.

“Wanna smoke?” Jiang asks. Now that it’s over he feels sick.

“Fuck yes.”

They get to their feet, pulling clothes back into place. Skov winces when straightens, looking exactly like Jiang had promised he would. Jiang leans against him, sliding a hand into Skov’s jeans against his hip.

“You smell,” says Skov, but he doesn’t pull away. They hobble back toward Jiang’s car, equally unsteady. At this time of night there isn’t a single pair of headlights in the distance. They both get into the backseat, Skov kicking his legs over Jiang’s lap, cramming them both together. Jiang’s stomach feels like it’s caving in, a natural response to not having eaten in days. 

The weed makes the crash better. Jiang lets himself lean into Skov, his cheek pressed to the top of Skov’s head. He gets hair in his mouth and doesn't care. Skov tucks his arms into the space between them; Jiang can feel him breathe.

He takes a drag, tilts Skov’s face up, presses their mouths together and breathes out. When he pulls back, he runs a thumb over Skov’s bottom lip. His eyes are glazed, looking up at Jiang in the dark.

“You good?” Jiang asks. Skov cracks into a grin. He sucks at Jiang’s thumb, lazy with it. “Such a good boy,” Jiang says, and sneers to take the sincerity out of it. Skov’s grin widens; he bites down, still gentle, until Jiang pulls his thumb back. 

“You’re not Kavinsky,” says Skov. Jiang closes his eyes. He counts backward from ten, gets halfway, starts again. He can see Skov’s skin under his hands, his filthy fingernails standing out in sharp relief. 

“I fucking know,” he says, eventually. He doesn’t even want to be Kavinsky, he doesn’t want anything. That’s the problem.

“I don’t need you to be. You don’t fucking need that.”

Jiang is silent. Come is drying on his thighs. 

“He’s dead, and he’s not coming back. He pussied out.” Jiang thinks about punching Skov’s teeth down his throat. “Stop being a bitch about it.”

“Is that what you’re calling this?” Jiang opens his eyes.

“Yeah, man. Look at yourself.”

Jiang doesn’t, because he doesn’t want to and for no other reason. 

“I’m gonna remember that next time you’re shaving your head at a rest stop because you freaked out when Swan pulled your hair,” he says. He wishes he wasn’t high.

“Good. Only one of us can be a bitch at a time, and it’s not my turn yet,” says Skov. Then-- “I fucking hate him.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

Quiet. Jiang tries not to let the darkness swallow him. He twists the joint between his fingers. Weight hangs between them, a thousand thoughts Jiang doesn’t have the words or the will for. The future seems so fucking long, so far away from his chest aching in the middle of nowhere.

Something in the passenger seat buzzes, breaking the tension. Skov’s phone. Skov shifts away and leans forward to retrieve it.

“Swan?” Jiang asks.

“He’s pissed. Probably thinks we drove off a cliff,” says Skov, face abruptly illuminated.

“Tell him to come meet us,” says Jiang.

“Tell him yourself,” says Skov, but he starts to text, thumbs moving rapid-fire. Jiang closes his eyes again. He takes another hit. 

“Where to next?”

“Well, I need a fucking shower,” says Skov. “Swan can get us a hotel and you can suck him off while I clean up. Then we can order a pizza and get shitfaced.”

“And tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s a problem for tomorrow.” He says it like it’s easy, but Jiang can feel him shaking in the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> shout out to owltrocious for looking over this (and existing in general) & thanks to all the cool people in this weird dark corner of the internet. im glad you enjoy these sad dickheads & thank you for creating the awesome shit you do


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